


Things we lost in the fire

by minutemarch



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Rush (2013)
Genre: After Monza, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Helpful Niki, Sombre Mood, sad james
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minutemarch/pseuds/minutemarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing his close friend, Ronnie Peterson, James Hunt is not coping well.</p><p>Help comes from an unlikely, but fitting, source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things we lost in the fire

James did not want to answer the door. There was no one he wanted to see. No one who could come. His phone lay off the hook, his blinds were all drawn and, still, there was knocking on the door. Wasn’t it obvious? Who couldn’t take the hint.

“Piss off,” he growled through the door. It seemed better than silence. He was too angry to sit quietly. Whatever they wanted he was having none of it. Whatever they wanted they could deal with it. He had nothing to give them.

“Open the door, James.” The words were a command but the tone was simple and even as if making an observation.

James wanted to tell him to piss off again. To go away. Hell, anyone else he would have, but… Niki had carried Ronnie with him. Niki still wore the marks James had not been there to spare him. Niki….

“Dammit, Lauda,” James said, hand on the door handle. 

He stood like that for several minutes and Niki never made another sound, just waited. 

“You look like shit,” Niki said softly when he finally stepped through the doorway.

“If that’s all you came here for you can turn around,” James said wearily, turning his back to Niki as if dismissing him.

~

_The light went too soon. James realised it as soon as it flicked on. It didn’t matter. Once the field started moving you’d better start moving with them. The front row were safely away, Niki with them, before it all went to shit in their wake._

_But they’d barely started, hadn’t they?_

_It only took seconds._

~

Niki picked up a damp towel from the floor and the pair of jeans that were tangled in it. “Have you been eating?” he asked his friend, strutting around the lounge, picking up the debris from the floor as James followed him.

“I’m not hungry,” James said. Niki believed him as he shoved a week-old pizza box into a bin bag.  
“Do you have anything in here?” Niki made his way to the fridge and opened it with low expectations. He closed it with a frown and walked back through the house and out, returning a minute later with a large paper bag. This he carried into the kitchen and started to unload. A tomato rolled off the counter onto the floor.

~

_Burning. Fast. Like before. Like they’d all seen before. This time Hunt was close enough. This time he was there to reach into the flames and pull his friend free. This time there would be no fight for life, no fearful transformation. They’d been fast._

_They’d been so fast._

~ 

“I need clean plates,” Niki commanded.  
“I’m not hungry.”  
“And some cups." 

James sighed and shoved the plug into the sink. 

~ 

_He cried his friend’s name and got an answer. Ronnie knew him, Ronnie was with them. His leg was caught but he had help. His leg was freed and they laid him down. His legs were turned to their component parts and James got between them and Peterson’s eyes._

~ 

“I don’t like celery,” James complained as he scaled his fingers on the tap.  
“Your knives are all blunt,” Niki said, pressing one through a pert little mushroom. Niki looked out the window to see the neighbour’s cat walk by slowly, sun on its back, looking like it was a fragment of another world. 

~ 

_“Where’s Sid? He’s supposed to be here,” James said, trying to keep the panic from his voice, dropping the doctor’s nickname in his urgency. “Get him over here.” He gripped Ronnie’s hand so tight he couldn’t feel his fingers any more._

_He could hear smacking sounds from behind the row of marshalls and hoped it was for Piquet who caused this mess. He wanted to punch every last one of them aside to get to him._

~ Niki placed the stew in front of James, pressed a fork into his hand. A glass of water sat to the right of the plate. Niki gave himself the same and sat in the chair closest to James. He started eating, setting the example. 

~ 

_Far too many minutes felt like all of the rest of time stretched out. Ronnie’s pain gripped the men who sat by him, aching deeper minute by minute._

_By the time the ambulance came they’d all forgotten how it felt to be anywhere else._

~ 

James looked over at Niki, at the curls of hair sticking out from under his hat, at the melted remains of his ear. 

~ 

_96%. Those were odds that would give Niki Lauda a wet dream. 96% chance of survival._

_So why the fuck…_

~ 

God Niki, his odds had been nothing. 4%. 4% chance of survival. Fuck his odds. Fuck Niki’s cursed odds. 

James kept staring and Niki let him. 

Niki knew. He’d burned. The terror in Ronnie’s eyes had been in Niki’s too. 

He’d lain beside the track. The ambulance had been slow. 

~ 

_Later James would tear Piquet to pieces with his words, on international television. He’d carry that torch for years. All of its fire would come from him._

_For now he sits in a cold hospital hallway, his head in his hands. He wants to throw up._

_He doesn’t._

_~_

“How does it taste?” Niki asked.  
“It’s good,” James said blankly. At least he’d tried it. He make a little hole in the middle of his meal and filled it with tomato sauce. 

When they were done Niki cleared the plates away and washed them. They sat on the draining board and Niki turned his attention to the living room. He restored it to livable as James watched him. 

Niki never asked James to help. 

_~_

__There was a blur of a funeral._ _

_The only think James remembered about it for a full two weeks was the weight of the coffin. It was barely lighter than the car that saw Ronnie into it._

_The red line across his fingers didn’t fade for three days._

_He didn’t want it to._

_~_

They sat on the sofa, a beer in their hands, Niki across from James. He fiddled with the label in a way James had never seen before. 

“I have bread. We will feed the ducks soon,” Niki said. 

Niki stayed three days. 

Neither of them spoke Ronnie Peterson’s name but it hung between them, easing in small actions. 


End file.
